


Let Us Burn

by espiritus



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Feels, Kinda long but oh well, Von is really bad at feelings, a metric fuckton of unresolved tension, dead spouses, super slow burn, very emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-31 12:32:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12132570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espiritus/pseuds/espiritus
Summary: She's stubborn. She hates being touched, and she doesn't like many people. Her hair is nearly as black as the heart she wants the world to think she has.-A.R. LucasA reworking of the kiss scene from chapter 8 ofBaby, It's Just You, inspired by a Within Temptation song and some quote I found on Word Porn. :)





	Let Us Burn

**Author's Note:**

> I follow Word Porn on FB, and the quote above reminded me of Von. So I rolled with it.
> 
> I've discovered that I adore the tension between these two: I'm better at feels than smut and, given both characters' tragic pasts, these intense emotional moments between them kinda write themselves. 
> 
> Though this is a reimagining of an existing scene, it's written in a different style than the original- one that I felt was better suited to the mood I was going for. I hope you'll let me know what you think and, as always, thanks for supporting my work!

It's cold out; a warm, summer rain is just beginning to fall, and Von shivers under her vault suit as it sticks to her skin. But she keeps walking, head held high as the heavens, even though the rest of her is weak with hunger and sleep and pretending to give a shit- all things she couldn't care less about. And yet, here she is.

It's only been a few short weeks since she woke up in that frozen hell. And, for just as long, she's been wishing that she were dead. She'd never pull the trigger, of course- she's not brave enough for that. But she's gotten careless lately, as though she isn't really trying to stay alive anymore. She's a different person now: Olivia, the nice but quiet girl from London who moved to Boston to study programming at C.I.T. and met the love of her life there, is dead, and Von is the shell she left behind. Where Olivia might have balked at the idea of firing a gun or murdering people for money, Von has no such reservations because she's so fucking numb that she can't even feel herself falling apart.

MacCready follows from a safe distance, engulfed in a cloud of cigarette smoke that hangs overhead like all the words he wishes he had the guts to say. Things like _I've been you_ , because it's in these quiet moments that he sees himself in her the most. But he's never been good with his words- that was Lucy's forte. It's been almost five years since she left this world and, in that time, his mouth has proven a deadlier weapon than any in the Commonwealth. Not because he has the gift of gab, but because it's nearly ended him on more than one occasion.

Instead, he offers her a cigarette- she always declines, but he does it anyway. Any excuse to draw her out from underneath the façade she wears like armour. But she doesn't take the bait.

"Aren't you cold?"

_Only on the inside._

"No, I'm fine."

She knows he doesn't buy it. But pretending is somehow easier than trying to explain how broken she is, and so she soldiers on like the General that everyone, herself included, so desperately needs her to be.

Her vault suit is completely soaked through, so they take shelter beneath an old storefront, where MacCready builds a fire and orders her out of her wet clothes before she catches her death of cold. She ignores him at first, nervous about being so exposed to anyone but Nate; he assures her that he won't look, and they both know he's lying, but it's freezing and Nate's dead and what even is shame anymore? So she swallows her pride and strips down to her underclothes, letting him drape his coat over her shoulders. Her face burns with embarrassment, though she appreciates that he pretends to look away- the same way she pretends that everything's fine and the world isn't falling apart before her eyes.

The night is black and starless, their small campfire the only light for miles. Von shivers, hugging MacCready's duster against her body. It smells faintly of whiskey and cigarettes- two things she never dreamed she'd ever associate with safety, and yet it's because of him that she does. Perhaps she's misjudged him, and everything he said last night wasn't just liquor and loneliness talking. She's not Lucy, and he's not Nate, but they're here and in this world for the long haul. He probably doesn't even remember what he said, so what's the harm in imagining that those words had been meant for her?

She feels strangely exposed, vulnerable even, and he senses her trepidation as he sits beside her on the curb. The tension between them is so thick that he can't breathe, and his hand inches toward hers. For a moment, it seems like she's going to return the gesture, but she doesn't, instead folding into herself as though last night never happened. Of course she remembers- colossal fuck-ups have a way of standing out, though it's probably not every day that someone she's hired to watch her back gets wasted out of his mind and confesses that he's in love with her.

Again, he offers her a smoke and, again, she declines. She's beautiful, all curves and chaos and hair the colour of burnt silk; touching her would be too easy. And, the more he thinks about last night, the more he wishes he could take it back. She deserves to hear those words when he's sober and not stumbling over them like a feral ghoul in a minefield... that is, if she'll hear them at all.

He reaches for her hand once more, deliberately this time; she doesn't like being touched, but she's too wet and cold to argue, so she allows it- out of necessity, of course, or perhaps defiance. It's a delicate dance of silence and secrecy, almost as though neither of them knows how to react to the other after what happened the night before. She's fragile, just like he is, and she'll never admit that they need each other for a hell of a lot more than just warmth.

Instinctively, she moves closer, and time slows to a crawl. He's so close that their lips are practically touching, and her breath hitches in her chest as his thumb moves over her jawline. But she quickly catches herself and withdraws once more, knowing better than to succumb to such a moment of weakness again.

"I'm sorry."

Of course, it's only half-true. It's not her fault that he drank himself blind, or said things that can't be undone- that's his burden, and the only apology she owes is to herself, for being stupid enough to believe him.

"I'm not."

Before she can even react, his lips are on hers and she's a mess of emotions, trembling under his hands like a scared, wet kitten left outside in the middle of winter. Heat stirs in her belly, and it's so intense that she's not sure if she should cry or punch him in the face- maybe both. She wants to hate his guts right now, but she can't because she doesn't want to separate who she was last night from this twin stranger, who's content to wave the white flag and surrender what's left of her dignity as she melts into his embrace.

For his part, MacCready is more shocked than anything else. He expects her to hit him, or push back- something that's not her arms around his shoulders. But her hands are fire, slipping beneath his shirt and igniting every inch of skin she touches as she blazes past his defenses.

She's mesmerizing, so unbearably soft and warm that he can't think straight. He craves her like a junkie might his next hit of Jet or Psycho, and there's a gnawing hunger in his stomach that all the food in the world can't sate because the void he's trying to fill is both infinite and immeasurable. But she fits so perfectly in his arms, and he can't stop kissing her, afraid that she'll disappear if he lets her go, taking with her the only light he's seen in five long years.

He tilts her head back to plant a kiss at the base of her neck, fingers twisted in her hair as though he's hanging on for dear life. A soft whimper slips from the back of her throat, and it's only when he notices she's crying that he realizes he is too.

"Why?" she demands, trying to be brave, though her voice betrays her as it breaks on the word . 'Why are you doing this?"

"Because I'm in love with you. Don't tell me you can't feel it."

And there it is, out there in the open. Sober. Not dripping with chems or alcohol or whatever else people use to give them courage: just him and his words. 

Her eyes grow wide and curious, as though she's been blind all this time and has only just discovered that there's more to the world than the rock she's been living under. She's trying hard to hold it together, but she's shaking her head- her breath comes in shallow gasps and tears are spilling down her cheeks faster than he can wipe them away.

"I can't do this."

As soon as she says it, something inside of him shatters. To be fair, Nate's death is still quite fresh in her memory, and MacCready doesn't know how he would have handled his own words if someone had dared to utter them so soon after the ferals took Lucy from him. It still hurts but, painful though the truth may be, the anguish in her eyes makes it that much worse. 

"What do you mean, you can't?"

It's a loaded question, one he's not sure he wants to hear the answer to. But, before he can stop himself, it's out there and she's looking at him like he's crazy.

"What about Lucy? I know she's gone, but you still love her."

She's rambling now, clearly nervous and already competing with a ghost. Hell, he's been doing the same ever since he found out about Nate and the vault, and the day the bombs fell. But he doesn't want her to be Lucy- that's not why he loves her.

He wraps his arms around her, locking her in the fiercest hug he can manage; she resists at first, pushes back against him with what anyone else might assume is all of her strength. But she's obviously not fighting that hard, because she could easily knock his head off his shoulders if she wanted to and hasn't done it yet. 

"Yes. But you still love your husband too, don't you?"

She nods her response but leans into his embrace, heart thudding against her chest as though a bomb's about to go off in there, and he knows he has his answer. She doesn't think there's enough room for both of them, and maybe she's right; she's still wearing her wedding ring, after all. Perhaps he's pushed her too far and he should have just kept his mouth shut. But he can't, because he's kept it to himself for too damn long already and she deserves to know the truth. No liquid courage necessary.

Finally, her breathing slows to normal. She peers up at him, eyes bloodshot and tears still glistening on her cheeks: the very picture of grief. And it's haunting, really, because it's like looking in a mirror. Sure, Lucy's been gone for nearly five years, but one look at Von's face is a sobering reminder that not all ghosts are dead and that some of them even look human.

"Can we... take this one day at a time?"

Her pain is palpable, and the air around them is saturated with it. The rain outside intensifies, pounding the roof like a hail of bullets and drawing attention to how alone- how vulnerable- they both are. But he nods and holds her tighter because the only alternative is letting go and he's not ready for that. After everything he's been through with Lucy, the last thing he wants is to lose Von too.

He knows that, in her eyes, this is all a moment of weakness and nothing more. Tomorrow, she'll be herself again, cold and infuriatingly distant as ever. But, tonight, she's on fire, and he'll never forget how it felt to touch flames without getting burned.

**Author's Note:**

> playlist:
> 
> 10 years, _wasteland_  
>  cinema bizarre, _angel in disguise_  
>  evanescence, _bring me to life_  
>  jesse cook & holly cole, _fragile_ (sting cover)  
>  kerli, _bulletproof_  
>  nine inch nails, _something i can never have_  
>  stream of passion, _earthquake_  
>  within temptation, _let us burn_


End file.
